Sophie was struggling to hold herself together on camera. Her hands were pressed against her cheeks, her eyes were bright and slightly wet, and her voice kept catching on the words she was trying to say. The professional calm she'd been cultivating over two weeks of low-viewership streaming had been completely overwhelmed by the reality of what was unfolding on her screen.
"Thank you, Master Streak, I don't even know what to say, thank you."
She took a shaking breath and steadied herself. 'This is your moment. Don't waste it.'
"Streak, let me sing something for you."
She launched into a song, her voice was pleasant but unremarkable, the kind of singing that wouldn't win competitions but carried enough warmth and sincerity to hold an audience that was already predisposed to stay. And with three hundred thousand viewers hanging on every note, the performance hardly mattered. What mattered was the spectacle. The whale in the room. The rockets still falling like rain.
